The Blood On These Hands: The Story of the 85th Hunger Games
by Fox06
Summary: 24 tributes are forced to fight to death in an arena till only one remains and is crowned as victor. They have to face their fears and fight through the pain to reach the end, but how much blood are they willing spill to survive. Open SYOT.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

Icarus Marcellus, Head Gamemaker

Nobody is perfect, but I am as close as you can get to perfect. I never make mistakes, and when you think I do, you're wrong. Everything is all a part of the plan. Nothing ever goes wrong and nothing ever will, and if you don't believe me, I'll have to add your execution to my plan.

Everybody has their faults but not me. I don't have to worry about looks, getting along with others, or anything for that matter. All I have to worry about is what the next batch of tributes is like, and trust me, no tribute could possibly ruin what I have planned.

This year is going to be the best games in history. After all, it isn't every year that you have the greatest gamemaker of all time running it. Call me arrogant, but we'll see who's laughing after these games. We'll see who the best gamemaker truly is.

It isn't like there is anything you can do now, anyways. It is too late. The games only come once a year, and this is my year. It is my turn to make a mark on this world. My name will go down in history - Icarus Marcellus, the greatest gamemaker of all time.

But not everything is that simple. Nothing is. If it was that simple, someone would have already taken my spot on the throne. But hard work is the only way to get what you want.

"Mr. Marcellus?"

"Yes, Edna?" I say, glancing up from my desk to see my assistant.

"The mutts you asked for are ready."

"Excellent." I say, my lips curling up to form a smile. After all, what's the point of a game if it isn't fun?

**...**

**I know this first chapter is a little short, and I do plan to make up for it in the actual story. So just bear with me. **

**Welcome, I guess. This is my SYOT. I have been dying to get this started ever since I first stumbled upon . I was at first just looking for a short story to read, but I found much more. This site a huge inspiration for me. I mean, I have always wanted to be an author, and I believe I can improve my writing skills by writing fanfiction for one of my favorite series, The Hunger Games. It has already brought me a lot closer to my goal.**

**In the past, I have read numerous SYOTs and tried to submit characters, and now, I want to try it out for myself. If you are interested in submitting a tribute you can go onto my profile and fill out the form. You can PM me once you've completed the form or if you have any questions.**

**And just to clear this up, Cato won the 74th Hunger Games, so the rebellion never happened.**


	2. Chapter 2: D1 Reaping - Nostalgia

**I'm back, and I've finally come out with the next chapter. Here it is, the District 1 reaping. **

**I apologize to you readers for taking so long to get this out to you. I've been really busy lately and had a hard time finding the time to write this chapter. Writing SYOTs is also a little new to me, so I had to get into the swing of writing. **

**With that being said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter.**

**Thanks to Mockingjay06 for these two tributes.**

* * *

Sylve Mariachi (18)- D1F

There is no word to describe the feeling that I feel right now. It is a mixture of happiness and excitement. Today is the reaping.

I've honestly never felt so happy in my life. I feel like everything has come together, piece by piece, and I am finally here. I don't feel the usual anxiety weighing down on my shoulders; I feel light as a bird. It is the kind of happiness you feel as a child. The kind of happiness that you can't help but squeal for - the kind when you close your eyes and scrunch your face in an effort to contain the joy inside of you. I feel great.

But all that joy and excitement seeps out of me once I look into the mirror. There are some scars that never go away, and sadly, I have one of those scars. My eyes trace the awful pink line from my right eyebrow down to the middle of my right cheek. It serves as a reminder – a reminder that I am weak. But it seems I won't have to worry about it for long. After all, today is the beginning of a new me. Today, is the day I am no longer that weak little girl, and instead I am a brave career. And not long after that, I'll be a victor, and no one will be able to hurt me.

However, I'll never get there if I don't get ready for the reaping. I grab the stick of concealer sitting on the counter in front of me and slowly start to apply it to the scar. Once I'm sure that it has been covered up, I start to put on foundation. I carefully blend the foundation in with my skin, hoping to get a natural look to it so that the cameras won't be able to tell that I'm wearing makeup. I have no problem blending it; it has become a daily routine to put on makeup.

After the foundation, I put on a light pink lipstick, which adds a little sparkle. I don't really need it, but I think it adds a nice touch. I take a moment to look in the mirror and smile, revealing perfect teeth. I look beautiful.

"Perfect," I say to myself as I walk over to my closet.

I go through all of my dresses, eventually deciding on a plain blue dress. I slip it on, feeling the silky material up against my skin. I then pick out a pair of silver dress shoes that match nicely with the dress and put those on as well. I stand in front of the mirror, admiring the simplicity of my outfit. Beauty is all about simplicity.

I leave my room and head downstairs. Mom and Dad are waiting in the kitchen, with food set out on the table.

"Good morning," I say cheerfully, forcing a smile onto my face.

"Morning, Buttercup." Dad says to me, using the old nickname he gave me when I was a young girl.

Mom is at the counter, mixing something in a bowl, though we all know that there is plenty of food already. She looks up and smiles, wiping her hands off on her apron and pulling me into a hug.

"You look beautiful, dear," she says.

"I know," I say, internally cringing at the words. Sometimes it's hard to keep up an act. Especially in front of your own parents.

I took up this habit of acting after the accident. My family doesn't talk about the accident much. It's how I got the scar. It's not like talking about it would make a difference, anyway. It constantly replays in my head, making it so I can never forget.

Acting is one of my talents. I guess it's my way of always being one step ahead. I want people to think I'm self-centered and arrogant so that I can have the advantage. I don't want people to know me well enough that they can use my emotions against me. I can't tell anyone, even if they are my own parents.

"You hungry?" mom asks, letting go of me, and gesturing to the food.

"No," I say truthfully. I honestly don't feel hungry at all.

"More for me then," my dad says, greedily rubbing his hands together. We all laugh. Even if I am acting, I still love my parents.

"I'm gonna head to the reaping early," I say heading towards the door, "I want to say goodbye to some friends."

"Okay," my mom says, her smile faltering for a moment. I clearly hurt her feelings by not wanting to spend these last few hours with her and dad. I do feel bad about it, but I can't drop the act. I'll drop it as soon as I get back from the capital. Then everything will get back to normal, like the way it used to be.

I smile and wave, as I disappear around the corner. Then I open the door and walk out but not before I take one last look in the mirror, being certain my makeup hasn't rubbed off.

Mercury Hughes (18)- D1M

Thwack! I watch as the heavy metal sword embeds itself into the dummy, the would-be-lethal blow just above the dummy's hip. I smile a grin of triumph, yanking the sword out of the dummy's side. My happiness doesn't last for long, however.

"Again," my father demands, his voice laden with impatience.

I don't further the conversation, even though I wish I would. I wish I could just turn around and face my father – look him right into his cold, dark eyes. I wish I could yell at him for how cowardly he is. Yell at him for abandoning me. Yell at him for all the terrible things he's done. Use him as a little puppet and control his every move like he does to me. Slowly watch him suffer… and burn… and die. Or, you know, I could just walk out of the training center.

But, no, I am stuck here. I do not speak, I do not refuse, I do not disobey. I learned not to do that long ago. Something about "you don't question your elders" or some other phrase meant to teach children to listen when adults tell them that they should want to kill people. My life is absolutely perfect.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead off with the back of my hand. Then I turn to the next dummy, tightening my grip on my sword. The sword once again smashes into the dummy, this time deeper than the last.

"Again," my father demands

I roll my eyes and retrieve my sword. Sometimes, I really hate this guy. No, I always hate this guy. My father can never do anything for himself. He is just a lazy coward, and he'll never be anything more.

I don't even understand what he wants me to do, and honestly, I don't think he knows either because for the past hour and a half, he's just been telling me "again". I wonder if that's the only word in his vocabulary. I'm pretty sick of having to hear it over and over and over again.

I move on to the next dummy. I plant my feet, then I swing the sword. The blade buries itself deep into the dummy's side, just like the last two times.

"Again,"

Again. Again. Again. That is all I'll ever hear. He can repeat the word as many times as he wishes, but it is never going to change anything. It can't change the past.

It can't change the fact that my mother is dead. It can't change the fact that my father is abusive. It can't change the fact that I am going to volunteer for a death game. It can't change the fact that I can't protect my sister, Ebony.

Ebony. If it weren't for her, I would have left this life a long time ago. I would have walked out those doors the first chance I got. I would be free. But I can't lose her. I can't lose the only person who still cares about me.

This is all so frustrating. Why does my father have to be such a terrible person? Why does my mother have to be dead? Why do I have to volunteer for a death game? Why?

I grip the sword tightly. It feels heavy in my fatigued arms, but I have no choice but to swing it. I have no choice in what happens to me. I have no choice in what happens to my sister. I have no choice.

I swing the sword forward, channeling my anger into the crushing blow.

…

I take a step back, catching my breath as I admire my work. I turn to look my father in the eyes.

"Happy?" I ask him sarcastically.

I can see the look of surprise on his face. No, it's a look of fear. He's scared of me – the monster he built me into. And it feels great.

I don't bother waiting for his answer. I just turn and walk out of the training center doors, leaving my father staring at the top half of the dummy lying on the floor.

Sylve Mariachi (18)- D1F

Victors always describe their reapings as on of the best moments of their lives. That moment when they finally broke free. And in that moment, they just knew that they had it in them to win. But I'm not really feeling it. All I feel is bored, as I sit here and watch the escort give a speech that I've heard every year since I was twelve. Reapings do get kind of monotonous.

I steal a glance at the eighteen-year-old boys section, scanning the crowd for Mercury. It doesn't take long to spot him with his brown hair, an unusual trait in District One. He seems a little on edge. He keeps nervously glancing towards the thirteen-year-old girls section.

I remember he has a sister. Ebony? I'm not sure if that's her name. She was the quiet girl at the training center. She was medium height, and really scrawny, and she shared the same colored hair as Mercury. Even her electric blue eyes matched those of my district partner. However, Ebony was extremely pale, which was a stark contrast to Mercury's lightly tanned skin. She was also delicate and fragile, unlike Mercury, she did have good technique, which I admire.

Either way, Mercury has nothing to worry about. If she was chosen, I would volunteer. Not necessarily for Ebony. I mean, I've been waiting for this my entire life. Nothing is going to stop me from going to the games.

I glance back at Mercury, and for a moment our eyes lock together. I stare directly into his electric blue eyes, and that's when the memories all come flooding back.

_Clang! The swords clash together. Sweat drips from our armored bodies as we spar. My opponent, whose face is blurred out, presses forward, swinging their blade forcefully. I successfully deflect the sword, with a newly learned technique. We take hit after hit, as close as a match can be. My opponent takes a vicious swing. I go to take a step back, but I misstep, tripping over my other leg. I fall to the ground, my sword clattering as it falls out of my hand, just out of reach. My opponent takes this moment to close the short distance between us. I try to move out of the way, crawling backwards on my hands. My opponent brings up their sword aiming to hit the only part of me not covered in armor. I desperately throw up my arms, but it is too late. I watch as a stream of red blood pours out of the open wound on my face. My beautiful face is now destroyed._

I feel a hand on my shoulder and am taken out of the moment. I turn to look my friend, Emerald, in the eyes. She gives me a smile.

"You're going to do fine," she says encouragingly.

"You're right," I say, pretending that that was what was troubling me.

Emerald opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the escort, who by now has already finished the speech and the video.

"Ladies first," she says in her capitol accent.

She walks over to the bowl and picks up a slip of paper. I can feel my heart skip a beat. This is it.

Mercury Hughes (18)- D1M

"Silk Everfrost," the escort's voice rings from the speakers.

The crowd goes silent, waiting for Sylve to volunteer. We watch as Silk, the reaped tribute, walks up to the stage, completely confident that Sylve will volunteer for her. And she does.

"I volunteer as tribute," I hear Sylve's voice loud and clear.

Silk, who by the way is fifteen, returns to the fifteen-year- old girls section. Sylve, on the other hand, proudly marches up on stage. She flashes a smile to the camera.

"My name is Sylve Mariachi," she says into the microphone, "And I'm going to be the next victor."

She takes a moment to blow a kiss to the camera before heading to her spot on the stage.

"What a lovely start to the reaping!" the escort chimes, "And now, for the boys."

I hold my breath as she reaches her hand into the bowl. I don't want to volunteer. I don't want to throw my life away.

The escort unfolds the slip of paper and reads the name out loud.

"Obsidian Black,"

A small boy from the thirteen-year-old section, shakily walks up towards the stage. He glances hopefully at the crowd, hoping not to go into the games.

I'm not sure what to do. If I volunteer, I let my father win. If I don't, then I win, and there is almost no feeling better than winning.

"Any volunteers?" the escort asks, hoping that Obsidian isn't District One's tribute this year.

I feel a lump in my throat. I know I should have answered sooner, if I haven't answered by now, it's probably better not to say anything at all.

The crowd looks worried, along with the escort. Sylve, however, is smirking, acting as if she knows exactly what is happening.

I look towards my sister, and our eyes lock. I know I can't let her down. I can't let father hurt her.

"I volunteer," I say loudly.

A wave of relief seems to sweep over the crowd, as I trudge to the stage. I walk over to the microphone.

"I'm Mercury Hughes," I say cheerfully, forcing a fake smile onto my face, "And I am going to be the next victor."

Sylve Mariachi (18)- D1F

I can't believe Mercury stole my line. He's a generally nice guy, and he is always creative. But he stole my line. This isn't how it is supposed to be. I was supposed to act self-centered and airheaded, and the capitol was going to love me. But after Mercury's sick little plan, no one will even remember my name.

His plan is so twisted, but genius if I do say so myself. Building up suspense in order to steal the attention from me. I don't know what I'm going to do. I mean, there's not much I can do, sitting here in the Goodbye room.

"Knock, knock," I hear a familiar voice say.

"Mom! Dad!" I say dramatically, sounding truly hurt by the fact that Mercury stole my line. I wrap my arms around them, holding them tightly.

"Oh, sweetie," my mom drones, "It's alright."

She gently strokes my hair, trying to calm me down. But my emotions are all just an act.

"Yeah," my dad, who is rarely ever serious, says, "Maybe he just got nervous and that was all he could think of. After all, it's probably not the first time someone used that line."

"But why does it have to be me?" I ask, wiping fake tears from my eyes, "Why my reaping?"

"Not everything is fair," my mother coos, "But it doesn't matter. The capital will love you, just like any District One tribute. They'll love you even more."

"You really think so," I say looking into her eyes with fake hope.

"I do," she says, "Anyway, your father and I got something for you."

"What?" I ask forgetting about Mercury, and putting on an excited expression.

I watch as my mother carefully takes a necklace out of her pocket. She hands it to me.

"It's beautiful," I confess, staring greedily at the silver chained necklace with a diamond on the end.

"We weren't sure if you had a token," my father states, "So we got one for you."

"Thank you," I say admiring it in the palm of my hand.

I unclasp the necklace and put it on, showing my parents how much I love their present.

"I love you both," I say, pulling my parents in for one last hug. And this time, I don't even need to act.

Mercury Hughes (18)- D1M

I stare hopefully at the door, waiting and waiting. I hope Ebony will come. I know father won't. He'll be angry at me for not volunteering sooner. He'll say I was weak. But it's not like I care if he comes. In fact, I don't want him to come.

I hear a light knock on the door. It opens to reveal a tall, scrawny girl, with long brown hair and electric blue eyes. Eyes that always seem so distant but so close.

"Mercury?" the girl asks.

"Ebony!" I say breathing a sigh of relief. I rush up to my sister and draw her into a quick hug.

I pull away and look her straight into her eyes.

"Where's father?" I ask, filled with concern, not for him but for Ebony.

"I don't know," she says honestly, her voice breaking. "He must have left. I didn't see him anywhere."

"I need you to listen very carefully," I say, "I want you to take the back door out of the building. From there, head South towards the bakery. Got that?"

"Mercury," she asks, clearly confused, "What's going on?"

"You aren't heading home," I say hurriedly, I am not going to lose the only person in the world who still cares about me, "You are going to head to the bakery, and once you get there, I want you to head west towards to jewelry shop. The one where you got your earrings. Alright?"

Ebony nods, clearly frightened.

"Topaz, will meet you there." I say, "I gave him instructions on what to do next. Okay?"

"Mercury," Ebony looks straight into my eyes, "I'm scared."

I'm scared too, but I'd never tell her that.

"You'll be fine," I tell her, "Just be sure that nobody follows you."

"But what about you?" she asks.

I can see the worry in her eyes.

"I'm fine. I promise I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Okay." She accepts my answer.

"Love you," I say as I hug her goodbye.

"Love you, too," she says

I let go of her and watch as she leaves. Now, I'm all alone.

I wish I could have protected Ebony like I promised mom. I wish I could come back like I promised Ebony. But it seems I make too many promises I can't keep.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. A lot of effort went into getting this first reaping done. **

**I would like to remind everyone that I am still in need of tributes. Almost all of the slots are still open or just have one submission. It would be extremely helpful to get the first few districts out of the way first. District 2 has no submissions. **

**I am not restricting the amount of tributes you submit, I am just asking that you take the time to create decent tributes. (a few bloodbaths are needed, however)**

**Well, thanks for reading my story. Have a great day!**


	3. Chapter 3: D2 Reaping - The Dead

**First of all, I'd like to apologize for taking forever with this chapter. I was on a long vacation and didn't really have time to write. I would also like to apologize for the quality of this chapter. It is rushed, and most of it was done in a couple of hours. I just didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. So sorry about that.**

**I guess that's it for the apologies. Let the District Two reapings begin.**

**Thank you to Mockingjay06 and Marie464 for these two tributes.**

* * *

Octavian Larue (18)- D2M

I slump against the cold brick wall of the alley way, listening to the empty sounds of silence echoing throughout my mind. It is too quiet here. Too silent. It's as if the world suddenly stops to let you catch your breath.

There are too many demons in my head, and when I'm here, they all go away. I can finally be freed from my curse. I can finally be freed from the many thoughts forever embedded into my memory. But I know this is only temporary. It isn't long before it all comes rushing back. Still I come here to find some peace.

And, I don't know, maybe, I like when it comes back. Maybe I like the sting and the burn of remembering. It gives me something to feel – something to hold on to. And that something is all it takes to tether me to this world, not the next.

The ground beneath me is hard. Its cement is cracked in several places, which only serves as a reminder that nothing lasts forever. No Friendship. No love. No life. One day, we will all die, whether we are ready or not. I'm not sure if I'm ready.

I can feel my body shivering from the frigidness of the air around me. It feels like the coldness is on the inside, which it is. It doesn't really matter anyways. Nothing does. At least not anymore.

I glance to my right. This is where I found him. His corpse lay in the alley, leaned against the very wall I am sitting against now. I can still see him there – his lips blue and face pale. Dark circles surround those eyes that I'd looked into many times before. They look empty, hollowed out, lifeless. A dark purple welt is visible on his cheek from only hours earlier. His chestnut hair hangs down in front of his face, carelessly tossed about by the wind. In one hand, he holds an empty pill bottle. In the other, a letter - one I never had the courage to read.

I slowly reach out a hand, to touch his face, but there is nothing there. It is all just a dream – some terrible nightmare. One that never seems to end.

On the other side of me, a long, rusted pipe climbs up the wall. Even its sorrowful spirit holds something dear to me – memories.

I remember that night well. It was one not long after we had met. He had insisted we climb the pipe to get onto the roof.

"_Are you crazy?" I ask._

_"Crazy," he repeats, "What makes you say that?"_

_A smile flashes across my face._

Once on the roof, we looked up the stars, admiring the bright, twinkling lights. The sky was clear that night, not anymore.

_"It's beautiful," I say, staring wide eyed at the sky._

_"Thought you might like it," he says, running a hand through his hair._

_I take a moment to admire how his eyes reflect the light of the stars perfectly._

Once again, I see him as his carefree self. He is no longer the boy torn between two worlds, the boy forced to make a decision that he couldn't, the boy who was pushed too far over the edge.

_He takes my hand and pulls me in. I feel a surge of energy as our lips touch. This is love._

It was love. It was perfect, and now, it is gone.

We were two pieces, broken and beaten, but we fit perfectly together.

I remember those nights. We would run through the streets as if we had no care in the world. Get into street fights, pull pranks, steal things from peacekeepers – you name it. Causing chaos was our thing. He was reckless, and I was smart. We could do anything, and only then, when I was with him, was I truly free.

_"See you here tomorrow?" he asks, as we exit the alleyway._

_"I don't know," I reply, shrugging my shoulders._

_"Come on," he pleads, "It'll be fun."_

_"Won't we get tired of it after a while?" I question, raising an eyebrow._

_"When I'm with you, I'll never get tired."_

It's no use remembering. It won't change the past. It won't turn back time. It won't bring someone back. But I still remember because that's all I have left of him, and however painful it may be, it's all worth it just to see him again.

I look up at the sky and see that the sun is starting to rise. I should probably go and get one last session of training in, but I'm not ready yet. I can't leave District two without saying goodbye. Besides, there's still one more place I need to be.

I stand up, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness as I do so. I place one hand on the wall to steady myself before I exit the alleyway, making sure that no one is following me.

A shiver runs down my spine. It's cold out tonight. I throw my hood up over my head and rub my hands together before stuffing them into my pockets.

As I walk through the streets, I see nobody. The entire district is asleep save for a couple barking dogs and cats. It's actually quite peaceful. District two is always busy. There's always something to do and somewhere to be, but not today, not tonight. After all, today is the Reaping - everyone's favorite holiday.

I creep through the silent streets towards the cemetery, which isn't far. I pass by house after house. Some are large mansions owned by the wealthy. Some are smaller and belong to those less fortunate, but they're nowhere near as poor as those of other districts. I guess, you could call us lucky.

When I reach the cemetery the first rays of light are starting to peak through the clouds. I breathe in the crisp morning air, trying to hold onto the scent forever. I won't be in District two for much longer, after all. I want to remember this place. It is one of the places I hold most dear.

I walk through the white metal gate, entering into the cemetery. This place reeks of sadness and sorrow. It holds the souls of the many people who we all wish we could truly say goodbye to.

Grief and loss weigh down on me as I enter this place of rest. Those who are here are lucky. They have found their peace, but they left us behind to suffer alone. I can't help but feel abandoned.

I walk by row after row of gravestones - row after row of people who are long forgotten. Some stones are new, and some are old. They each carry with them their own stories, the stories of the people buried beneath them.

I come to a stop as I reach a stone that is fairly new. The stone that belongs to a boy, but not just any boy. This stone belongs to a boy who was reckless, a boy who could light the world on fire with just one word, a boy who had a bigger heart than anyone I ever knew. A boy who I loved… and he loved me back.

I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the knot building in my throat. It's all I can do to not burst into tears.

I read the stone marker for what I hope isn't the last time.

_Lucas Cassanova_

Luke.

Why can't I just let you go?

Elizabeth Kent (16)- D2F

It's always quiet around here in the mornings. It is a peaceful sort of quiet that happens only at the perfect time, when the sky is a beautiful shade of orange fading into pink. It's always lovely, but nobody else is awake to see it. I kind of like it that way. It's like my own little corner of the world, where I go when I need some time away, but it only happens once a day at a specific time.

Maybe I like watching the sunrise because it gives me some time to think - a time when I don't have to worry about Alex and Jamie or even Mom and Dad. All my troubles just melt away into the sunset.

I remember watching the sunset with my older sister. We used to wake each other up and watch from the window, or even once or twice, we watched from the roof. It brings back a warm fuzzy feeling – a feeling of safety and comfort.

We don't watch sunsets together, anymore. We haven't watched them for two years… because she died.

That's another reason I come here, to keep her memory alive. If I so much as mention her, my family would fall apart. Just like they did two years ago.

I watch as the sun peeks over the horizon, and the sunrise fades into a clear blue sky. Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted.

I slide off of the windowsill and make my way out of my bedroom. I pause as I glance to the side of my room that used to belong to my sister. It is empty. It never felt right to fill that space with something of mine.

I turn back to face the door and leave all thoughts of my sister behind.

The wooden floorboards beneath my feet creak ever so slightly with each step. I really hope that nobody can hear me as I make my way through the hallway to the kitchen. Especially not dad. He had the late shift last night, so he needs as much sleep as he can get.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, ready to start making breakfast. I take a pan out from one of the lower cabinets and place it on the stove. The stove is old, and takes forever to cook things, but I'd like to make a nice meal today. You know, with the reaping and all, the least I can do is give my family a good breakfast.

I go to the fridge and take out a carton of eggs. Some of them have already been eaten, so there are only three eggs left. Perfect, just perfect.

I take out a package of bacon. At least I'll have this.

I throw the bacon strips onto one side of the pan and put the eggs onto the other. I wish we had spices or something to add flavor to this, but we don't. I probably should have gone shopping earlier this week.

I hear the floorboards behind me creak. I whip my head around to see who it is. It's Jamie, my eight-year-old brother. His oversized shirt hangs loosely over his thin frame, reaching down to mid-thigh. The pajama pants that he wears are way too long. Mom must have rolled them up for him yesterday, since they're done like that now.

"What are you doing, Lizzy?" he asks in his childish voice. I don't think he ever outgrew the whole childhood phase. And you know what, I think I like him like that. He still has that same innocence that not everyone his age has.

"Nothing," I say, "just making breakfast."

He nods understandingly and goes to sit at the table.

I turn back to the pan on the stove and flip the bacon. It won't be long before it's done.

"Morning," Alex says as she walks into the kitchen, yawning. She rubs her eyes, still half asleep.

"You know it's reaping day, right?" I ask her.

"Yeah, so?"

"You can sleep in, today." I tell her.

"Well, I would have slept in," Alex complains, "if Jamie hadn't woken me up by jumping on his bed."

_Good job._ I mouth to Jamie and give him a thumbs up.

"Hey," Alex says, playfully slapping me on the arm, "I saw that."

But even she can't help but laugh.

…

I stare down at the dress laid out onto the bed. It is beautiful. The soft orange sundress is decorated with flowers and pale blue swirls, which line the sides and bottom of the dress.

I don't get fancy clothes like this very often. I used to own a lot of nice dresses. This specific one belonged to my sister. I only wear it on special occasions.

I take off my shirt and pants and slide the dress over my head. It fits perfectly. The dress complements my tall frame nicely. The length is perfect, too. It goes right down to my knees.

I take a look in the mirror, admiring the beauty of the dress. I love it. I only wish my sister could be here to see it. I know what she'd say if she were. She'd say that I was beautiful in it, too.

She'd always loved this dress. It was one of her favorites. It matched her bright and cheery attitude. She always had a smile on her face. But now she's gone.

I use the mirror to fix my hair, pulling it neatly into a bun. I be sure to leave out two strands of hair, one on each side to frame my face.

I turn to leave, but something catches my eye. I look over to my dresser where a thin, white bracelet sits. My sister's hospital bracelet. It almost pains me to remember. Those last few months in the hospital were the hardest. She was battling a disease, one we all knew she couldn't beat. But she never gave in. She kept that smile on her face until the end. I always thought that when I die, I want to die like her. But not by a disease. I want to be myself until the very last moment.

I take the bracelet into my hands and head outside. I have a reaping to get to.

Octavian Larue (18)- D2M

I don't know why my parents made me get here so early. There's nothing to do except sit around and wait for the reaping to begin. I could talk to people, but who would want to do that. Extroverts, I suppose.

I watch as people start to fill in the square. More and more of them come until practically all of District Two is here. There are a lot of people. People who are all depending on me to win. It's more than a little overwhelming, but I would never let it show.

The escort finally walks up onto the stage. She has on a dark red dress that drags on the floor behind her. Her hair is also a dark red, along with her makeup. I don't know what she is going for. Blood?

She gives a short speech before playing the capital video. I've honestly seen it a million times. I pretend to stare intently at the screen, but I don't know how believable my acting really is.

I honestly can't believe I'm doing this. I am about to volunteer. It seems like so long ago that I joined the academy.

_"You know, one day, I'm gonna volunteer." I say to Luke._

_"Really?" he asks sarcastically, "So that's why you joined the academy."_

_We both laugh._

Stop it, I tell myself. Don't let the past distract you from the present. But I can't help but remember.

_The escort puts her hand in the bowl, picking up two slips. She hesitates for a moment, deciding which of the two slips to choose._

_"Just pick one already," I say under my breath._

_"Why so impatient?" Luke asks._

_"Why?" I repeat, "Because I don't have time for silly games like this."_

_"What about games like this?" he asks, and he pulls me in. Our lips touch and I so badly want to stay in this moment forever, but I quickly draw away, hoping nobody saw what we just did._

Elizabeth Kent (16)- D2F

I watch as the escort puts her hand into the bowl. She quickly chooses one slip, taking it right off the top of the pile. She walks back over to the microphone, her red heels clicking with each step.

"Our female tribute for this year is," she pauses to unfold the tiny slip of paper, "Alex Kent."

For a moment, I can't believe my ears. Did she just choose Alex?

I see my sister leave the thirteen-year-old girls section. She marches up to the stage standing tall and letting no emotion appear on her face.

I twist a strand of my hair nervously as she reaches the stage. The escort puts an arm around her shoulder.

Alex 's eyes lock with mine, and only then do I see the fear echoing in her mind. I still force myself to stay calm. Someone will volunteer for her. They have to.

"Now, is there anyone who would like to volunteer for this lovely young lady?" the escort asks.

The crowd silently waits for someone to volunteer. We wait and wait, but nobody does.

The escort looks back and forth over the crowd, hoping to see someone's arm go up, but no arm does.

I strain my ears to hear a voice echoing in the distance, but no voice does.

Then it hits me in a cold shiver. I feel the dreaded fear that nobody is going to volunteer. Alex is going into the games.

I throw my hand up. I don't even hear the words that come out of my mouth, but I know they do.

Everyone turns to look at me, a mix of relief and confusion flashing across their faces.

I walk up to the stage, passing Alex on the way up the stairs. Her eyes are flooded with tears at the realization of what just happened. I give her a firm nod before she disappears into the crowd.

"It seems we have a volunteer," the escort says, with fake surprise.

She puts her arm around my shoulder like she did with Alex. It makes me feel uncomfortable.

"What's your name, dear?" she asks.

"Elizabeth Kent," I say firmly, refusing to say anything else.

"Lovely," the escort remarks, "And now, for the boys."

She once again picks a slip and returns to the microphone.

"Cleaver Macaw," the escort says.

"I volunteer," a voice says from the eighteen-year-old section.

A boy with shaggy black hair emerges from the crowd. He is only a couple inches taller than me and looks pretty thin, but I'm sure he was chosen for a reason.

The boy makes his way to the stage, and the escort hands him the microphone.

"My name is Octavian. Octavian Larue," the boy says.

I shake his hand and look right into his electric blue eyes. They are cold.

"Here are your tributes from District Two," the escort chirps, "Elizabeth Kent and Octavian Larue."

Octavian Larue (18)- D2M

I can't believe it. We had no volunteer. I mean, we did, but the girl – Elizabeth, I think – wasn't the actual chosen volunteer. I'm actually surprised that Celeste decided to back out. It was her last year and all. Oh well. I guess it's up to me to bring home a victory.

This may actually be a good thing. The career pack may not be as strong, but I'll have one less actual competitor, one less person to get in my way. It makes everything a whole lot easier.

I wish I had somebody to talk about it with, but nobody came to say Goodbye. Dad probably went back to work. He's always working. Mom probably went home to get ready for the reaping party that she's hosting. Lastly, Roman. I bet he went back to the Academy to train for next year. That basically sums up my entire list of friends and family. It's kind of sad, actually.

I guess I'll just wait until the peacekeepers come to get me. I got a lot of time on my hands, and there is nothing to do with it. It doesn't take long before I drift back into the world of memories.

Elizabeth Kent (16)- D2F

"I'm so sorry," Alex says, tears welling up in her eyes.

"It's not your fault," I say reassuringly. I honestly believe that. If there's anyone to blame, it's that darn escort. Or even the capital, if you want to put it that way.

I pull both of my siblings in for a hug. I hold them for a long moment before pulling away to look them in the eyes.

"You're both going to be okay," I tell them.

"You promise?" Jamie asks, looking up hopefully.

"I promise," I say pulling them in for another hug. I can feel Alex shaking, trying to keep from bursting into tears.

"I'll be back before you know it," I say

The peacekeepers come and drag them out of the room, but not before we exchange some quick 'I love you's.

Mom and dad come in next. They sit right next to me on the couch, pitifully looking into my eyes.

"Elizabeth," my mom says, looking moments away from tears, "No matter what happens, just remember that we love you. There's nothing in the world that can change that."

My parents pull me into a quick hug before saying goodbye to their oldest daughter, who they're most likely going to lose, just like the first. I watch as the door shuts behind them and my parents say goodbye for what I hope isn't the last time.

I hear a knock at the door and look up to see Ashland and Mia, my two best friends. They are teary eyed and look about ready to cry, but I know they won't. They will stay strong for me.

"Thought you might be here," Mia says, refusing to let the circumstance get in the way of our friendship.

"Oh, guys," I say as I go to hug them, tears starting to stream down my face.

"It's alright," Ashland says, stroking my hair, "you'll be fine."

But I don't believe her. I'm going to die in that arena.

Mia pulls away and reaches into her pocket.

"You dropped this on your way up to the stage," she says, holding out my sister's hospital bracelet.

"Thanks," I say before another round of sobs wracks my body.

And we just sit there and cry until they have to leave, and I'm once again left all alone.

* * *

**Thanks again if you're still reading this story. It really means a lot.**

**It would also be really helpful to me if you could leave a review about either the writing of the first few chapters or the representation of the first four tributes. I could use a couple pointers. Thanks again.**


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